


Logan Is The Real Loser

by Stuffy (AlexKingOfTheDamned)



Category: Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Public Masturbation, Stuffing, eating contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2513576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/Stuffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott is forced to bear witness to an eating contest between Remy and Kurt when he'd really rather just be at home nursing a bellyache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Logan Is The Real Loser

 

“Guys, this is getting a little out of hand.”

 

Scott Summers leans back in the booth with a groan, completely ignored by the other two men. Kurt chuckles around his mouthful of steak and casts a yellow-eyed stare at the insensate mutant.

 

“This is the price you pay,” Remy says as he gulps down noodles. “You lost fair an’ square, you’re the errand boy. ‘Nother round if you don’t mind.”

 

Scott heaves a sigh. He doesn’t remember exactly how he got roped into this. He massages his slightly swollen stomach with the heel of his hand before rising from the booth and returning to the buffet bar for what feels like the millionth time in a couple hours. He loads up two more plates with food that looks plain nauseating at this point.

 

He tells himself it’s not shameful that he lost (badly, miserably) to the two men still chowing down in the booth. He’d only been able to make it through three plates before he became too nauseous to continue, and he had to put his head down and take several deep breaths to keep from vomiting all over the table, his lap an the tacky carpet. By the time he raised his head again, the other two mutants had finished their plates and seeing as he lost the bet, he was appointed the runner for more platefuls from the buffet.

 

His timing is good, Remy and Kurt stack their plates on the leaning tower of dishes. Scott quickly sets the new plates down and halves the stack so it doesn’t topple over. He drops back into the booth beside Remy with a groan and sets back to massaging his stomach.

 

He’s never been one for overeating. He regards the other two with something between respect, disgust, and awe. They must have cleared at least twenty plates between the two of them, and they’re still going. A cramp shoots through his own over-full stomach and he rests his forehead on the cool table top again to ride it out.

 

“Slowing down yet, _bleu?_ ” Remy hums as he tears a chunk off of a drumstick with his teeth and slurps down the tender meat.

 

“Not likely, _zauber_ ,” Kurt grins a pointed-tooth smile at the other man and swallows a thick, cool mouthful of chocolate shake.

 

He doesn’t exactly remember how this all came to be, either. It all happened so quickly – it involved Logan somehow, talking shit to Remy, who then made a bet, Kurt got involved, he wasn’t even there when Scott got talked from “designated driver” into “willing participant” by Remy.

 

He sits back to take a break and burps into his fist, massaging his other hand into his growing belly. He’s thankful he had the forethought to wear street clothes rather than his suit, because it would be bursting at the seams. He has the spoils of nine plates of food packed away inside his stomach, and his legs crossed on the booth beneath him to support the steadily growing curve. His tail is providing a constant source of relief, curling and rubbing over his weighty belly. Hiccupping into his ungloved hand, he digs into a slice of apple pie with gusto.

 

Remy is a much noisier eater than Kurt. He slurps his noodles and burps open-mouthed every few bites, and he doesn’t wipe his face right away. He stays relatively clean, however, as he swallows down bite after bite of soft meat and warm pasta and glazed vegetables. He’s amazed that Kurt has met him this far, and has even started to admit to himself that he might not be able to beat him. He’d been so confident at the beginning – the elf is so damn _skinny_ he was sure he had an automatic advantage.

 

But either he’s got an extra stomach in there (entirely possible, and is that cheating?) or he does this on an even _more_ regular basis than Remy does. He pauses to give his round belly a two-handed rub down, and shoves the edge of his jeans down even farther from the lowest curve of his growing gut. He wants to lift his tight shirt over the curve so it will stop cutting into his belly, but he’s pretty sure that might count as indecent exposure. They’re already being stared at by the employees at the buffet. Granted, they would probably be stared at even if they hadn’t eaten enough to kill most grown men.

 

Kurt plows his way through another plate and for the first time, he and Remy are uneven. They’ve matched each other plate for plate so far, but he’s at least half a plate ahead of the other man at this point. He grins toothily at Remy as Scott teeters off clutching his stomach to procure another plate for him.

 

Remy jumps when Kurt’s tail slips across the length of the table beneath the surface and the spade slips up the inside of his thigh before caressing his belly.

 

“Regretting such a tight shirt?” Kurt grins at him while Remy does his best to ignore the stimulation and focuses on eating a slice of pumpkin pie. Kurt rubs a hand across his belly exaggeratedly so the other mutant will look up, and forces a reminder that Kurt thought ahead and wore a nice, loose shirt.

 

Remy says nothing as he drains his soda and lets out a loud burp to try and free up some space in his gut. Scott has only just returned to the table with a queasy expression when he finished his own plate, and the man has to immediately walk off again. Remy takes his break gladly, slumping back in the booth and watching as Scott has to lean against the bar with one hand to keep from toppling over from the dizziness and nausea wracking him.

 

Plates continue to stack up on the table. Scott spends the majority of his time with his cheek or forehead on the table, listening to the pair beside him bicker affectionately, and rubbing his hands into his stomach. He gives the owners of the buffet a little extra money, because when they say “all you can eat” on their sign, he knows they usually assume people will eat four plates worth, tops.

 

Remy hits a wall. Almost fourteen plates of food inside him, he’s tight as a drum and unbelievably round. He tries to swallow a bite of broccoli, but he gags, and it almost comes back up. He has to wash it down with a shallow gulp of water, and a cramp rocks him. He sags back in the booth with a loud groan and clutches his stomach with both hands. Breathing shallowly, he lets out a few quiet burps to try and get through the minor wave of nausea. But when he thinks it’s gone and he lifts his head again to look at the table, the sight of the food remaining on his place rocks him to the core and his stomach does a nauseating flip.

 

“No more,” he burps again, letting his head hook back over the seat. “I’m done.”

 

Kurt looks up from what has amounted to his sixteenth plate of food. Once he’d passed Remy, he continued on that path, barley slowing down. He lifts his eyebrows at the other mutant and grins.

 

“I win?” he asks, licking a little cherry filling from his thumb. “You admit you lose?”

 

“Let’s be fair, bleu,” Remy groans and hiccups and burps into his fist. “Logan is the real loser. He’s the one who bet I could not eat my weight. I’ve proved him wrong, non?”

 

Kurt laughs and picks a fleck from his fangs with his pinkie nail and sits back in his seat, throwing his other arm back over the edge of the booth, and rubs his belly with his free hand. He notices how Remy’s eyes widen at the sight of his stomach when he flattens his loose shirt to the surface. With a grin, he tugs on the back of the shirt so it conforms to his belly.

 

“Good Christ, are you in labor?” Remy barks a short, astonished laugh at the sight of Kurt’s tight, rock-hard globe of a belly.

 

Licking his lips, Kurt releases his shirt and scoops a dollop of whipped cream from his pie and sucks it off his finger tip. He’s quietly thoughtful for a moment as he extends one long, lean leg across the table and slips his slender foot right between Remy’s open thighs. The other man gasps and sits upright, and Scott barely turns his head a fraction to investigate the sudden quick movement before dropping his face back to the table top.

 

With Remy gasping and biting his lips, Kurt inclines his head back with a smirk, and when he speaks, Remy’s face goes bright red.

 

“Want to see how far I can go?”


End file.
